Make Me Yours (Again)
by theactonbell
Summary: 1940's AU. "A person's life purpose is nothing more than to rediscover (...) those one or two images in the presence of which his heart first opened." (Albert Camus)
1. Confessions

**Chapter One - Confessions**

 **A/N: Republished due to prior dissatisfaction.**

 **The story** **will mostly focus on dynamical changes in the relationship between Jane and Maura and the resulting consequences. If you're more into an action filled and case centred plot, this will not be what you are looking for.**

 **However, I do hope people enjoy.**

 **Thank you for taking your time and reading this,** **A.**

 **[Disclaimer: I don't own the original storyline or characters.]**

 **(Update: Some people are confused with the pairing: It will be Rizzles later on, just be patient and enjoy the journey.)**

* * *

[Present - January 1945, New York City]

* * *

"I miss you."

The sudden and softly spoken whisper violently puts an end to the calming silence of night, making your tired mind highly aware of where - and most importantly _with_ _whom_ \- you are.

You swallow.

Then you notice her movement accompanying the whisper across the dark room; feel her coming closer and closer until eventually the bed dips and her breath is mingling with yours. It blows gently over your skin, making everything tingle in its wake. Immediately, you're surrounded by her sweet and distinctive scent, clouding your mind with countless memories.

(You try not to dwell on the fact that she still smells the same, even after all this time.)

Her words, however, they are made of treacherous poison - consuming your heart and making you weak. As soon as you realise this, you tell yourself _you need to leave, to run far away,_ but sadly there is no more escaping her now. She has you trapped in your own bed; in the place you have come to call _home_.

It's funny though, how you're both laying there so close - facing each other and breathing the same air - while at the same time you're both so far apart. _Still, she's too_ _close_ , you decide, being terribly aware of her steadily beating heart, a rhythm so different from your own right now. But somehow, you can't get yourself to move with your nerves running high, and her proximity making thoughts hazy and limits unclear. It terrifies you because you had forced yourself to forget this effect she had on you, and now - being confronted by it again - you have no idea how to withstand it.

Rationally, however, you know you should fight it, _fight her_ , because of what happened the last time you let yourself get lost in her.

But when your eyes meet, everything stands still and you can't help but to be pulled in. Something in your mind tries to protest because _no, you can't dare to let her in now, not when things have finally started making sense again._ After your move to New York _without_ her and _with_ the child.

But you just stay motionless - looking at her - feeling your heart adapt the rhythm it had lost so long ago.

This can't be happening.

Why did you have to invite her to come in, to stay the night? Because at the moment this seems like the worst decision you have ever made - with her being this close to you again, _in your bed_. Countless accusations and regrets press forward, teasing your overwhelmed mind and thoughts.

(You blame her. Her and your naive irrationality for tearing open old scars. Painful scars.)

You _should_ be indifferent about her and her advances now since it was _you_ , who left _her_ in Boston in the first place. You _should_ listen to the incessant warning bells of your heart because you can sense this feeling rising in your chest - the special feeling only she can cause. You _should_ know better and have your walls up higher than ever before to protect the vulnerable treasure that is your heart. To protect it from her.

She is terribly dangerous.

Because _she_ can break everything. She can break _you_.

It worries you. _A lot._

Because something deep inside you doesn't care about the risk; something insanely unreasonable still wants this. Wants _her_.

After arriving in NYC, you had promised yourself to keep your heart safe and complete; far away from harm and pain because of your souls most precious possession; the only thing you have ever truly lived for. She shouldn't get to take this away from you as well, and that's why you have to protect it from her.

But right now, you sense that you're losing that final battle. The piercing stare of her hazel eyes does nothing but help to intensify the roaring echo of the unleashed words raging in your heart - tearing down your walls brick by brick - until eventually you're lying there naked; baring the treasure of your soul.

(The treasure being her - _Maura -_ and the beautiful castle of memories you had built together during a time when _your_ world had still been _her_ world; during a time when _loving_ her had been possible.)

It's these images that immediately surge through the open doors of your mind. You close your eyes and catch images of her laughter, her smile, the sparkling look in her eyes whenever they caught yours. Images of the way she would hold you - hold you so close - suffocating your demons and reviving your heart with her love. Images of her endearing quirk of grasping your sore hands, caressing them as if they were the most delicate thing she'd ever touched; treasuring their hideous scars.

The familiar feelings of love and yearning burst through your heart - momentarily drowning out the painful ache her words have left - and you are lost in this world of sheer happiness and fulfilment. You don't even try to stop the soft smile coming out to grace your lips. This feeling right here had always been enough for you, enough to keep the deadly doubts and hurt away.

But suddenly, you falter and the smile disappears from your lips.

If only these memories were the only thing you had left of her.

If only you could _forget_.

As if on cue, the castle falls together like stone turns to dust, and the preceding images are washed away by memories of her frown, her tears, the worthlessness she felt when you shut her out. The hurt in her eyes when you had walked away. The devastation in her voice when she had realised you were never coming back. It's _these_ memories you remember the most. Agonising reminders of the hurt you had caused her - painfully etched into your heart - to never make you forget that you never had been good enough for her.

Never _would_ be good enough for her.

A sharp pain cuts through your chest at this thought, making you wince.

You just _couldn't dare_ to let yourself forget.

"You can't."

The voice coming out of your mouth sounds unfamiliar, pathetic even. The slight tremble makes it seem ridiculously weak, offering a vulnerability you're not willing to share with her now _or ever again_. Your throat turns dry and your eyes start to burn. You keep your eyes closed until you can't withstand the suspense any longer and have to look at her; needing to see the impact your words have on her. You are quick to regret your puerile curiosity when you are met with the unperturbed stare with which her eyes just continue to watch yours. The heat emanating from them is terribly uncomfortable. It feels like they are feeding off every emotion offered in yours, making them burn even further from exhaustion - _literally_ _draining you out_.

You realise that you can't endure this closeness much longer.

Because you certainly _will_ break if this goes on any further.

So you desperately will yourself to fight against this mysterious yet well known hold she has on you. You know that you need to make her stop. Your unhelpful thoughts are turning increasingly dangerous the longer she musters you with this wistful gaze. And yet, just before you're about to throw caution in the wind and _act_ , she unexpectedly lowers her eyes and sighs. Immediately, the spell is broken and you don't hesitate to take your chance to turn around towards the soothing darkness. When your cold cheek lands on the warm pillow, you finally feel able to breath again.

(You really hope that this reinforces your conviction of keeping her away from you.)

But unfortunately, the ordeal is far from over.

She sighs again while moving closer, and the soft caress of warm air across your neck makes shivers ripple through your body and fine hair rise on your skin. Unfortunately though, it also throws every bit of your diligently acquired conviction out of the window - leaving you without any viable reason to reject her. But still, you don't dare to move, trying not to give her any indication of how much she's actually already won, of how much her proximity _kills_ you.

Moments later, you feel a steady hand slowly making its way over the path of your lean arm. When her skin comes in contact with yours for the first time in years, the sensation is just as intense as you remember - igniting each and every nerve on its journey through your system; making cold blood boil and your rhythmic heartbeat explode.

And yet somehow, you manage to contain the pressing urge to react.

But she goes on, taking the absence of response as an open invitation to let her hand travel down to your stomach before pulling you back into the soft body behind you. You're utterly overwhelmed at the feeling of completeness that immediately fills you when she melts seamlessly into you.  
(As if this was how it was supposed to be.)

During lonely nights and in countless dreams it had always been thoughts of her - _only her -_ that had been able to silence the screaming void that had made its way into the centre of your soul after leaving Boston. _This has to be one of these dreams_ , your mind tries to tell you, but the heat between your bodies feels so heavenly real that you just wish you could press back into her. Knowing she would reciprocate. Knowing she would _moan_.

(Seriously, this really _had_ to be one of these terribly torturing dreams.)

"Don't."

The words are fraught and desperate, offering your last restraint. To your relief, however, she almost fully complies. The warmth on your back disappears and with it the pressure of the hand on your stomach. Strangely enough, it doesn't move. Instead fingers begin to dance, drawing invisible shapes on the taunt skin found there. _Of course_ , sensations have to increase tenfold at the pleasurable touch, as well as the traitorous number of appearing goosebumps - showing just how _much_ her light and seemingly innocent touch arouses you. The unbearable, almost tangible tension between you makes you want to act, respond, _do anything_ to satisfy this terribly telling ache.

It makes you want to be reckless.

 _But you have to stay strong_ , you tell yourself, _fearless even_.

You can't let your heart surrender to her again.

"But I _miss_ you."

This time louder, even more purposeful. She presses her whole body against you again, and it's enough for you to finally let go and savour her heat. This time you don't stop the desire running through your veins. This time you don't suppress the anticipation for her next touch. This time you can't help but to press back into her.

She _moans_.

Oh, _this sound_ , it's like music to your ears. You had forgotten how much you'd missed it, even longed for it. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought of being allowed to hear it again. _It has been so long_ , you plaintively realise. Albeit, the melancholic thought is quickly lost when she grinds into you, while holding you in place rather dominantly, in order to create even the slightest feeling of friction. She moans again when your bodies come together, and honestly, the animalistic note in her voice is awfully addictive - you want to evoke it _again and again and again,_ to never stop giving her the pleasure she so desperately craves from you. As she moves to place a soft kiss to your neck, you have to close your eyes. The tempting ache the somewhat shy notion causes in the depths of your heart makes you foolishly want to turn around and wrap your arms around her, never letting go of her again.

And yet, _something_ is holding you back. _Something_ can't fully revel in the pleasure of experiencing this unique intimacy with her again after so many years of wishing and wanting. _Something_ inside of you knows that you _just can't do this_. And while lying there with your back to Maura - boldly receiving her caresses - you finally realise as to why your conscience is seemingly immune to each and every attempt to silence it.

(You feel terribly embarrassed at the fact, that your rediscovered egoism is strong enough to block out the only other good thing you have had the pleasure of having in life besides her.)

You can't do this with her because your safe haven is no longer found in Maura's arms - she isn't yours anymore, regardless of how much you wish it were otherwise. You had moved on with Casey, and then your beautiful _daughter_ Charlotte had come into your life, filling your heart with new joy - becoming _your_ family. You can't do this because of what had lead to you being here in NYC and Maura staying in Boston. _They_ are your family, _not_ Maura. No, she had lost this place in your life when she had chosen him. When she had chosen him _over_ you.

(You try to ignore the insistent ' _she had to_ ', which your heart immediately provides, trying to defend the choices she had to make all these years ago.)

He and _especially_ Maura were not your family anymore.

She couldn't be worth losing everything again, and her closeness couldn't be enough to justify childish escapes into this irrational egoism anymore. Because really, was she truly worth jeopardising the life you had built out of countless tears and sleepless nights - a life that you were content with? Your minds instant ' _no_ ' is harshly confronted by the uneasy ' _yes_ ' of your heart, and you find it extremely frightening, how your heart and mind can't seem to find a matching answer to the pending question.

Why did life have to be so cruel and torturing? Why didn't she just stay away from you like you had agreed on shortly before your move to NYC? Why did she have to torture the both of you even if she knew exactly, that this here would be going nowhere? Confused and exhausted, you can't stop the telling tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall and make the pain excruciatingly real. But you can't choose her, _not anymore_ , and the palpable rawness of your voice portrays the roaring despair when you have to reject her. _Again_.

"Maura...Maura, stop. _Please_...we can't. We can't do this. We can't do this to _them_. We promised it. Please get off me, Maura." You take a deep breath, thoughts and feelings too fast to grasp before they settle on the worst. _Guilt_. "Damn...letting you stay really has to be the worst decision I've made in a very long time. Please just...just go back. Go back to _him_."

The smothering contact disappears at once, hands and sensations leave you shivering. The prompt loss of heat is quickly followed by an eerie quiet emerging in the dark room, which does nothing to diminish the tension. Instead it heightens your awareness of her even further when you hear the first soft sob leaving her mouth. _It's this that hurts the most_ , you recognise, your capability of making her cry.

Because of you.

The sharp twinge of hurt makes you revisit the fragments of the now destroyed castle of memories. Longingly, you think back to the glorious time of its integrity, when devastating promises, social expectations and the world of unrequited love had held no meaning yet; a time when the only thing mattering to you had been _Maura_ and _her_ happiness. But these times were long gone - gone since you left her with him and you yourself married Casey - and couldn't ever be brought back. The present scars and fears were never going to allow it.

Because of them.

(And him.)

He, who came in after you and quickly swept Maura out of your grasp with subtle smiles and touches, while you were dealing with the consequences of being urgently advised by them to leave her alone. He, who won her with _courage_ , a trait you had always been lacking with her, ever since you had been children. _Courage_ , that would have given you everything, but because of running from it, it had gotten you nothing. Instead, you tried to face her with cold denial to make her stay far enough away from you, but in the end that hadn't helped at all, no, it had made everything worse. _Heartless, even._

After her engagement, your beautiful friendship had made way for a relationship full of animalistic lust and cold ignorance, depriving both Maura and you of your infantile innocence. Sneaking away for kisses and touches, lying to him and Casey, it had all been _so_ easy to do. And yet, while trying to keep her close, it had poisoned your heart instead, making you incapable of ever loving uninhibitedly again.

After her wedding day - the moment she had broken your heart for good - they pressured you into moving to NYC with Casey, the soldier who you married six months later.

(Even if your heart could never love him the way you had and unfortunately still do love Maura.)

Denial and fear had always been your greatest weaknesses. Overwhelmed by the possibility of having her, you had denied it. Had denied _her._ Because in the end, she had been too precious, the fantasy too fragile and your _parents_ too powerful. It had been them, who were the real reason for leaving and denying her, threatening to tear you apart if you continued seeing her and opposing the church - _being a disgrace for the family's name._ It had been them, who had cleared the way for the man who had her now.

Your brother. _Frankie._

"Maura...please, just leave."


	2. Denial

**Chapter Two - Denial**

 **A/N: Well, yes...it has been a while, I know.**

 **(I fell in love with ' _Carmilla_ ' during my absence, which has made it indefinitely harder to come back to this pairing.)**

 **Either way, I do hope you enjoy. Mistakes are all mine.**

 **A.**

* * *

 _"Maura…please, just leave."_

* * *

[Past - April 1940, Boston]

* * *

The weak beam of sunlight falls in through the small windows and engulfs the room in a soft yet almost dreary hue of yellow. The smell of dust and age seems to have settled on each and every surface and you wonder if it had always been this way; if the atmosphere in here had always seemed so uninviting, so unchallengeable.

You close your eyes.

Why did this here have to feel so heavy? So final?

(Because it was.)

You feel the delicate fingers of melancholy gradually close around your heart, slowly suffocating it. The dull pain caused by this only adds to the strange sadness that seems to linger in each and every moment of this day.

Of this _special_ day.

Your eyes open and you let your attention return to the large mirror in front of you. A deep sigh escapes your lips as you carefully examine your reflection, while running your hands over white, velvety fabric. The dress is nothing but beautiful, and you would be a fool to deny your mother's great taste. The perfect balance of soft satin and lace smoothly fits your delicate figure and wraps you in a powerful air of both elegance and purity.

You look so _different_ from how you feel.

Your gaze turns upward to the sharp and gaunt features which had once been so rosy and soft. Your loss of weight is embarrassingly obvious, but somehow the image of the girl in that white dream of a dress stays intact. It overwhelms you, this delicateness. This sweetness. This unbelievable innocence.

A _perfect_ girl _._

You smile mockingly at you reflection because know for a fact that it is this image, that will be enough to please your parents. They would finally get what they had wanted all this time: A daughter capable of being a worthy representative of the Isles legacy.

Finally, you would live up to the countless expectations placed on your shoulders.

And yet, a shudder passes through your bones at the stark reality and you have to ignore the sudden urge to relieve yourself of the remains of the breakfast that had been forced on you this morning.

(Somewhere deep within your heart, the notion makes the all too well known feelings of fear and regret resurface.)

Thankfully though, you are given a few last moments of precious solitude to compose yourself before your mother comes barging in with Angela Rizzoli, your future mother in law. The sound of their chatter and laughter feels oddly intimidating, smothering even. They come to stand in front of you, and the proud look in your mother eyes brings back the uneasiness from before.

"Ah, ma belle fille, you look absolutely wonderful, _breathtaking_ even! Now come, let me fix your veil and then it's almost time for your father to pick you up. Angela dear, could please come over and help me with the right positioning? It's the easiest things that always end up to be especially tricky."

Laughter rises again and you let the two women work in complete silence - none of your words having the courage to leave the safety of your mouth. The thoughts caged in your mind would all come out wrong anyway and shatter the fragile illusion you have found yourself trapped in. And breaking it is something you can't risk, under no circumstances.

Well, not anymore.

Helplessly, you let your eyes wander over to the windows and watch the light softly dance over the dark wooden floorboards. It reminds you of this one day when Jane had tried to teach you how to walz, but it had ended in a mixture of laughing and…you push away that last image. There was no room for that kind of mental nonsense anymore.

And yet, the bittersweet memory makes you wonder where she was right now, what she was doing or thinking. Was she still thinking about you? Like you, yourself, were thinking about her? Was she even aware of today?

Your heart clenches at the thought of her and those beautiful, loving eyes.

You miss her. _So very much._

(And you detest yourself for hoping that she misses you, too.

Even after everything.)

Before you are able to stop it, a lone tear escapes your eye, running down your hollow cheek and spoiling the carefully applied make-up. It's silent journey ends abruptly though, when a callous finger catches it at the base of your jaw - successfully crushing it and it's meaning forever.

"Maura, are you alright? What's the matter, are you not happy?" The concern in Angela's voice _almost_ sounds sincere, but honestly, you couldn't have wished for it to sound otherwise - not after all the pain and tragedy you had caused this last year.

(You try to dismiss the paralysing panic that is slowly rising in your chest.)

"Yes, Angela, of course I'm happy. It's just—this one pin on the left side here really feels terribly uncomfortable." You grant her a weak smile and point to one of the countless metal objects placed in your hair, desperately hoping to bring her attention back to the matters at hand since you could literally feel tell-tale hives already emerging on your fair skin - even if the pins on your head really did hurt. Mercifully though, Angela seems to let the episode slide and silently proceeds with fixing the pins.

(You had always been incapable of lying. Even about Jane.)

 _Jane._

Your source of eternal joy and yet at the same time, the source of endless pain and misery.

To think that you had almost slipped up seconds ago and caused for this very important day and event to be jeopardised just increases the tight despair in your stomach. How would you ever be able to survive this day without messing up?

Suddenly, Angela coughs and you are brought back to the reality of the small room in the back of the church. And it's only then that you notice that your mother has left. "Where did Mother go?", you ask while Angela fixes another pin on the veil. Luckily enough, your voice seems to have regained its steadiness after the preceding incident, and you are able to meet Angela's eyes again.

But the weariness that is continuing to linger in her guarded gaze cracks the air of sanctity your dress had allowed you to hide in. You feel strangely vulnerable and scared when it pierces through you; as if she had the power to search for and find every single secret your had ever kept in your heart.

The power to find images of _your_ Jane in the depths of a scarred heart.

"She left not long ago when she heard that Frankie had finally arrived. She wanted to go over a last few things with him. I told her I would finish you up and meet her afterwards. That is alright with you, surely? I mean it's perfectly normal to be nervous and search for motherly support before the wedding, but you have nothing to worry about, darling. You know yourself that Frankie is a wonderful man. He loves you very much."

You don't have the strength to reply, but it seems as if luck for once continues to be on your side for Angela doesn't even attempt to address your silence anymore. Instead, her nimble fingers resume to fasten the veil with new found cheerfulness.

A few minutes later she finishes with a satisfied sigh, examining her work one last time. She retouches the make up around your left eye before stepping back. "You truly do look beautiful, Maura. I just _know_ that this wedding won't be anything less than magical. Well, I'm going to go over to Frankie and Constance now, and you'll just stay put until Arthur comes to pick you up. Understood?"

The implicated warning is more than obvious - even if the accusation itself is completely unfounded - so you just nod when she leaves. You wouldn't see Jane today. Or at least not alone, if she came at all.

Still, the tension leaves your aching muscles as soon as Angela's suffocating presence is replaced by the open arms of calming silence. You take a shuddering breath. You are going to get through this without hesitation. You will make your parents proud. There is no need to cry over and dwell on something that lies in the past because this right here is your future. Your destiny.

Suddenly however, you are pulled out of your thoughts when the door to the room gets yanked open and a dark figure hastily rushes in. The loud 'thud' of the closing door makes you flinch. It only takes you a split second until you realise _who_ has barged in and so rudely interrupted your heartfelt motivational speech.

The recognition makes your weak heart trash against your ribcage.

"Jane."

"Maura."

When she looks at you with these dark and familiar eyes, your lungs can't help but to forget how to breath. How could someone look so utterly defeated and yet so inexplicably beautiful at the same time? Your traitorous heart soars when her unique scent hits your nose. She smells like endless lavender fields in southern France. Like belonging.

Like coming _home_.

Her smell makes you want to throw yourself in her arms in order to drown yourself in this safety only she seems able to provide. If only to suffocate all these straining doubts and thoughts about consequences. For all times.

"Maura.." She repeats your name carefully and quietly as if to savour its taste on her tongue. Then she stills, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When her eyes open again and meet yours, they are burning with smouldering fire. With fire you hadn't seen in a long time. With fire you had always assumed to have extinguished after what happened all these months ago.

Your heart skips a beat.

"Please—you can't do this, Maur", she steps closer, her husky voice breaking, "you can't marry Frankie."

For the first time since her unexpected intrusion you are close enough to let your eyes throughly study her face. You notice numerous tear tracks staining her cheeks, and a significant red puffiness coating the skin of her glowing eyes and running nose.

And the longer your stare rests on her dark features, the more tears quickly return to forefront of her eyes, threatening to put out the fire that had made you lose your breath in the first place. You had never seen your Jane this vulnerable and open before. Not even when she had told you she wanted you.

(And only you.)

It's a heartbreaking sight.

" _Please_ …"

You close your eyes and force yourself to stay motionless, knowing that one step towards her would immediately break this thin wall of self protection you had cast around yourself. Breaking everything you had so cautiously rebuilt these past months. What on earth could she be expecting from you anyways? She couldn't—no, not after all you both had been through _._

You just couldn't.

You feel your own tears gathering behind your lids at this suffocating misery. Your head is pounding with hopelessness and your mind is trying desperately to free itself from this fierce hold she has on you, even though you already know that the attempt will be to no avail.

She had ruined you forever.

(Because you are hers and _always will be hers_ , your heart painfully adds.)

She clears her throat and you feel her presence closing in on you. When her calloused fingers touch the delicate skin of your wrist, your eyes fly open. The unique sensation of skin on skin makes your self-restraint crumble, and staring right in to her eyes, you know that she realises she has won. Her gaze regains its conviction and her fingers increase their pressure on your warm flesh. Recklessness pours out of every breath when the words you had been yearning to hear all these years start to leave her mouth.

"I lo—"

But as soon as the first syllables hit the air, it all suddenly feels terribly wrong. Your walls are back up at an alarming rate. Because although your heart had been aching for these words to finally reach your ear, your rationality knows exactly which fatal impact they would carry on their back. Because words like these are meant to break through barriers and pierce through fragile hearts - making them lose their life-sustaining beat and then killing them eventually.

"Don't, Jane", you plead desperately.

Because this is wrong. Because this means nothing. Because _she_ means nothing.

When Jane's hand leaves your wrist and she steps away, you know you can't take back your rejection of her. Fear for this being the moment you will truly lose her settles in your heart, and your chest aches with regret. For the first time in your life her presence is undesired; makes you feel ashamed. So you turn away and walk towards the window. Trying to escape. Trying to find something to distract yourself from the overwhelming urge to breakdown and cry.

You settle your gaze on the world outside. You can see trees swaying in the soft breeze and birds celebrating the long awaited arrival of spring. The scene is hauntingly peaceful and a sharp contrast to the tension clouding both your mind and senses in this small room. And you can't help but wish that you could fly away like the birds in the clear blue sky. Carried by the wind and caressed by the soft glow of the afternoon sun. No worries about where to go and where to stay. No ties. Always moving. Always on the run.

Free—yes, that must be what freedom feels like.

You sense yourself floating away into this tragic and dreamy sequence, slowly losing sight of reality; slowly dissolving into thin air. Nothing is holding you back. Or so you think. Because moments later Jane is there, her touch on your shoulder pulling you back to the surface of everything. Saving you from falling. Again.

"Why are you doing this, Maura?" I…I can't lose you because I…", she falters. "I want you, okay? I don't want you to marry Frankie because he doesn't deserve you. Hell, even I don't, but…" She stops then, clearly realising that this was the feared dead end. The unspeakable. The secret that could never be revealed.

Her hesitation gives you the chance to break the spell she had unknowingly put you in. "But what, Jane?", you counter rather harshly. "That confessing your feelings after all this time will change my mind? Will make me fall back into your arms without a second thought?", you laugh bitterly at the irony of it all.

"I have thought a lot of things about you, Jane Rizzoli, but never had I thought you to be this naive. Don't you see that it has to be this way? I have to marry Frankie or else our families would be put to shame for what happened last year." You take a deep breath. "We have to stop this—"

"Do you love him?"

The sudden question makes you pause, shaking you to your core. Love had never been of concern regarding you and Frankie. It was a bond only to destroy the accusations and rumours that had spread after the summer party at Giovanni's last summer. Love had never crossed your mind before - well at least not in that context. It had always been an unknown concept to you that had managed to defy each and every scientific approach, making it so hard to prove and narrow down.

And you had always been slightly scared of the unknown.

(And on another note: how could she ever truly consider something like that after all you two had been through?)

But before you can gather your thoughts and completely comprehend what is happening, Jane is in front of you; her face inches away from yours. You can feel the shallow puffs of her breath caressing your own lips. Looking into her chocolate brown eyes you find something in her that won't give up. Something in her that thinks that you're still worth fighting for.

"I won't believe you if you say that love him."

You long to kiss this something awake; to tell her that she's right to believe, and as if Jane had heard this terribly uncalled-for wish, her eyes slide downwards to your lips. She moves in even closer, her nose caressing yours and the dark curls providing a curtain to effectively cut you off from the outside world. It's only you and her now. And the realisation makes your heart pound and your senses dizzy with need for her. You can almost taste the unresolved tension on her breath, and it doesn't surprise you that when she leans in, you meet her halfway.

It's soft and slow. Lips moving against lips, rediscovering and greeting long lost companions. Thoughts about marriage and consequences are thrown out of the window; the only thing mattering right now is her and her mouth on yours.

It doesn't take long for you to find your rhythm; a perfect balance of lips parting, coming back together and the occasional (and very much needed) breath in between. With time her hands get bolder, fastening around the velvety fabric at your waist. The warmth of her palms seeps through the dress, setting your skin on fire and gathering in your lower stomach. Your own hands are securely wrapped around her neck, holding her close and caressing the soft hair at the nape.

You can't help but moan when Jane's tongue tentatively grazes you bottom lip and you don't hesitate to open your mouth and welcome it. The silent sigh that leaves her mouth at the sensation makes goosebumps erupt on your skin and you smile into the kiss. Oh, how you had missed this.

The kiss only grows in need and desperation, and in a way it finds its climax when she removes the veil from your hair. It is with this bold move that you abandon each and every feeling of inhibition, finally letting yourself be completely lost in her presence again.

The heat between you both is addictive, and you don't care about your dress or anything else when she hoists you up on the windowsill with her lips moving down to your neck and her legs finding shelter between yours. You sink into her as she kisses the weak spot on the right side between your neck and shoulder. Your legs wrap around her torso, holding her close and increasing the heat. When she moves her attention to your collarbone, her hands move towards the back of your dress and find the zipper, pulling it down.

Goosebumps arise on your freshly revealed skin and you stop for a moment, pulling her face back up to yours. Jane really is a sight for sore eyes with her lips swollen and her eyes sparkling. You can't believe how beautiful she is. She smiles when your eyes meet and you lean in to reconnect your lips in a soft and slow kiss.

She hums in contentment and it doesn't take long for the kiss to intensify and the atmosphere to heat up again. She is just about to push your dress even further down when the door to the room opens with a loud creak.

Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you, and the cool wave of fresh air hitting you in the face feels like waking up from a terrible dream. Fear creeps in like a silent cat, and you know that this is finally over. You and Jane are over. There would be no more need to hide. Because this is the last piece for them to complete puzzle that shows the truthful picture of yours and Jane's relationship.

The look in your parent's and future parents in laws's eyes is enough for your heart to break. And it's too late for you to break apart, but at least Jane had noticed the intrusion as well since her exploration had stopped as soon as you had stiffened.

Her forehead is pressed against you shoulder and her breathing is slightly erratic. You just hope that she can't hear your embarrassing fast heartbeat. She stays there motionless for a few more moments before slowly leaning back. She takes a deep and calming breath. Her eyes are closed when she comes back moving towards your ear, and her proximity makes it hard for you to maintain a steady breathing pattern.

"I love you."

A whisper so soft and tender, spoken like the sweetest lullaby. Basking you in the safest of loves, it warms your heart and makes it breath. You feel free. Invincible.

At home.

Sadly the song ends much too soon for your liking when she lightly kisses the shell of your ear before leaving your personal space completely. You can't help but shudder. This is too much. She gives you one last open and loving look and then she breaks away from you, turning to face the storm.

Your parents.

"Well, I'll be leaving now." Her deep and surprisingly confident voice seems to pierce the invisible bubble that had hidden you from their hateful eyes and ears.

"Not so fast, young lady!" Frank Rizzoli is the first to act, and his loud voice makes everybody else flinch. Including Jane. She comes to a stop and you see a flicker of fear flash through her eyes. And it's only now that you understand how crucial and dangerous this here really is.

What will happen to her? What will happen to _you_?

"What do you think you're doing? Bringing this disgusting shame to our family. You imbecile fool. We told you to stay away, but you just never listen. This will have consequences, don't you dare think this is over." He steps towards Jane and slaps her across the face. Hard. Jane whimpers and clutches her quickly reddening cheek. But she doesn't back down.

"You're no daughter of mine. Disgusting bag of scum."

Frank raises his hand to land another punch, but before his violence is able to find its victim, your father steps in and creates a slight distance between them. Thankfully, your father had never found any appeal in the use of violence.

"I think it's best if Jane leaves with Angela to talk about what clearly was going to happen or already had happened here, while Constance finishes fixing up Maura for the ceremony. We are already running late, and there shouldn't be anything else interrupting this very special and _happy_ day."

Your father, who has always been known as the diplomat, the voice of reason (and suppression), takes Frank by his shoulder and moves him back towards the door. Even though he gives you a pointed look full of shame and disappointment, you have to say you feel lucky. Because who knows what would have happened if Frank had taken even further control over this situation.

"I guess that sounds like a reasonable suggestion, don't you think, Frank?", Angela says rather steadily, although her eyes are screaming with anger and hate. She moved towards Jane, grabbing her by the shoulder. Frank twitches and huffs, but stays at your father's side, "Say goodbye, Jane. You won't ever see her again, girl. I will personally make sure of that if I have to."

You start to turn away, preparing for the storm that will come as soon as they leave when Jane unexpectedly pushes her mother's hand off her arm and walks back towards you. It feels terribly uncomfortable and confining, standing across from her again with both your parents staring daggers at Jane's back. You can't breath. Literally. "Goodbye, Maura.", she chokes and her quiet voice breaks as a lonesome tear escapes. Fortunately, she is quick to wipe it away.

It hurts so much to see her this way.

Out of the blue, your mother speaks up. "Do _you_ have any last words you want to say to her, Maura?" The unexpected sound of your mothers voice offers nothing but cold disdain, and yet you can't believe that she's giving you this one last chance to position yourself. To clear up the mess they had found you in moments ago.

(To reaffirm the promise you had made when you had told them that you loved him and never her. That it all had been her fault.

That she had meant _nothing_ to you.)

You don't dare to look her in the eyes when you mutter your last and parting words.

"I have nothing to say to her. Just leave, Jane."

Her shoulders drop as soon as she realises your decision and she starts to return to her waiting mother, but not before looking at you once again. The sight of the once so loving eyes has now been replaced by a gaze so broken and void of any emotion. It's too much. It shakes you to your bones and you have to swallow the sob which had emerged at the base of your throat.

Little do you know that this image will come back and haunt your dreams for years to come.

* * *

When she's finally gone, your heart is gone with her.

Later, when vows and rings are exchanged and your gaze flits through the church hall, her seat is empty. And somehow, through the whole ordeal, you can never quite ignore the soft and husky echo of _'I love you'_ ringing in your ear.

* * *

[Present - January 1945, New York City]

* * *

The memory - triggered by Jane's words - stings worse than you'd ever want to admit. It only reminds you of the pain you had caused her during the second to last meeting before she moved to New York.

And yet, what hurts you even more is the way the desperate edge of her words slices effortlessly through the tiny sliver of hope you had the courage of offering to her when you had told her you missed her; when you had naively thought she would feel the same. Now it was lying at the bottom of your heart, successfully broken into a thousand pieces.

It had taken you so long to find her. Enduring long stays at the Rizzolis, snooping through drawers and cabinets at their home in Boston. Always trying to find an address or anything that would lead to her.

You had turned desperate with time. With Frankie gone, you had led an awfully quiet and excluded life in Boston. No social events or gatherings had ever had the charm to appeal to you. And with your thoughts always coming back to her and the excitement and joy you had felt with her, it had been the only right decision to throw caution into the wind and look for her.

At that time you had nothing to lose anymore.

And when you finally held an old letter of hers in your hand, you had been quick to restore the contact to your distant relatives living near Long Island. It had taken a year until they had made the offer for you to visit them for a few weeks - which was great back then because of the tragedy that had struck you shortly before.

But despite your initial surprise and shock at hearing her harsh words, you get up quickly and search for your skirt and blouse. You turn away from her as soon as the clothing is securely clutched in your hand because you start feel this dangerous tension from before emerging from the darkness and stretching out its fingers again.

And still, you can't ignore the fact that the heat of her eyes gliding over the sparsely covered parts of your body has your heart skyrocketing. Even though she has no right to do so anymore. Even though you have no right to be so affected anymore. You had both lost your rights the day she left for NYC. The day her rejection had broken your heart for good.

And yet, a sad smile settles on your lips when you remember all the times you had fooled around in your teenage years. The first time she had let herself discover your body, shyly claiming and calling it hers. The way she would always linger at the scar on your left shoulder, tracing patterns over the soft flesh found there. The dark look of lust in her eyes when she was settled in between your legs, smelling your arousal for her, teasing and waiting to take the plunge. The love that had flavoured each and every kiss and touch; making you a hopeless addict to the enticing substance named Jane Rizzoli.

"I said to _leave_ , Maura. Don't think that by taking your time you can convince me otherwise. This _will_ be over after tonight. And you will not contact me _ever_ again. Do you understand, Maura?"

You turn back and finish buttoning up your blouse. When you meet her gaze, the scorching despair that burns in her dark eyes makes a shiver ripple through your tired limbs. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, you try to protect and persuade yourself that this is so unlike Jane - or rather _your_ Jane - and in no way real. Because the person who had begged you to stay with her all these years ago, whose eyes had always told you a different story - a story in which you were the only star lighting up her universe - could never face you with such coldhearted rejection.

"Jane, plea—"

You would never get the chance to conclude the attempt of addressing her conscience because you're suddenly interrupted by the distinct sound of the doorknob being turned. Moments later a tiny girl appears in the door way, clutching a ragged old doll. The entrance confuses you, even more so since the doll seems vaguely similar to the one Constance had given Jane for her sixth birthday, but then again you would only be guessing and Maura Rizzoli-Isles never guesses.

"Ma…I can't sleep. You're _too_ _loud_."

As the realisation finally hits you, you freeze. This changes everything, each and every reason for why you had made the journey up north. Because it's her daughter. Jane's _daughter_. She has a child with Casey. She has a family that loves her. And a family she loves back. She has a life here in New York. A reason to stay.

Maybe she didn't wait for you. Maybe she had moved on.

Maybe Casey really makes her _happy_.

The last thought makes you want to run from this and her, but before you have the chance to act, Jane crouches down and opens her arms, motioning for her daughter to come to her. "I'm sorry, princess. Ma just got a little upset there, but nothing to worry about." She sighs and looks back at you warily, silently asking you to let the previous conversation go for the moment.

You have no choice but to give in and nod imperceptibly.

At seeing her mother's waiting embrace, the little girl all but runs in Jane's arms, burying her head in the crook of her neck. You watch the brunettes eyes close as soon as she is safely wrapped in her arms. She places light and soft kisses into dark curls, causing the tiny creature to giggle. "Ma, stop. It tickles!" Jane chuckles, and it's the first time in almost five years that you see a genuine smile grace her lips.

The intimate scene between mother and daughter evokes a sickening feeling of intrusion and loneliness in your chest. You have to avert your eyes because seeing Jane so gloriously happy without you is a sight that is hard to bear. Even more so since you yourself had never found the key to happiness again after she had walked away.

Then, all of a sudden, the girl turns around and looks at you. After a few moments she points at you, and you hold your breath not knowing what to expect. You had never been good with anticipating children's behaviour.

"Who is this, Ma?"


End file.
